More likely they were just hoping that by tomorrow she might have added to his list of injuries.
‘Your friends have gone,’ she said. ‘And so must I.’
On an impulse he didn’t quite understand himself, but knowing his friends would understand a rapid change of plans, he almost asked her to dine with him.
Almost, except he stopped himself at the last moment. For the dinner he had planned with his friends would take no time at all, and then he would be back to his books and his study, which was where he needed to be if he was ever going to be prepared for the requirements of his new role.
Whereas dinner with this woman? Who knew where that would lead, given the startling turn events had taken today? He didn’t even know how it had happened. But he did remember the feel of her in his arms, the way she’d turned so suddenly from a rigid column of shock to lush feminine need with just one heated, molten kiss. Would he be tempted to linger if he dined with her to-night, tempted to make her truly his before she became his bride? It made no difference to him.
But then he remembered the cold slash of her claws down his cheek.
He did not need another reminder of how much she objected to this marriage, certainly not before the wedding. And they would be married soon enough. She would be his tomorrow night in every sense of the word, and he could wait that long. He didn’t need another battle at this stage, not when he had already won the war.
‘Then good night, Princess,’ he said with a bow. ‘Sleep well. And when next we meet, it will be at our marriage.’
And he let her go. He watched her turn and walk purposefully away from him, watched the sway of her hips as she moved through the arched walkway to where Hamzah joined her to guide her back to her suite along the archway walk.
He turned away before she disappeared, cursing duty and all that came with it—the duty that forced him into this situation, the duty that insisted he marry this particular woman at this particular time, the duty that meant he would spend his night trying to memorize a crusty old book rather than burying himself in the body of a woman who looked and walked like a goddess. A woman who apparently hated the thought of doing her duty even more than he did.
Or maybe she just needed a bit more time to get used to the idea. That would make sense. He’d had three days since being informed of the disaster and what its implications were—that he should prepare himself for the fact he could be the one to inherit the throne. She’d had little more than that number in hours. And, even though her father had told her there was no other course of action, of course she would still be in denial, wanting to wish away her fate.
So maybe it was a good thing he had not asked her to dine with him. Because now she would have this night by herself, this one last night to enjoy her freedom.
And tomorrow, and for all the nights that would follow, her duty would be clear. Her duty would be with him.
In his bed.
CHAPTER SIX
‘IT IS time, Princess.’
Startled, Aisha looked up from the cushioned seat where it seemed a hundred willing hands had been busy making the final adjustments to her veil and make-up until only a moment ago, whereas now she felt only the cold fingers of dread clawing at her insides. Surely it could not be time for the ceremony already? The day had passed in a blur of preparations, starting with a warm, oil-scented bath and moving on a seemingly never-ending conveyor-belt of sensual indulgences: a massage that had promised to soothe the tightness between her shoulders and yet had proved ultimately futile, before a facial, manicure and pedicure and the delicate, tickling touch of the henna artist creating golden swirling patterns on the backs of her hands and feet, a gesture of her acceptance of the Al-Jiradi ways.
It had all taken hours, yet surely it could not already be time? But the hands of the mantel clock offered no respite. Rani was right. The ceremony would begin in less than ten minutes.
She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling physically ill despite having barely eaten a thing all day.
‘Do not be nervous, Princess,’ reassured Rani. ‘You look beautiful.’ Clearly she mistook her reaction for normal pre-wedding jitters. But how could this be normal wedding nerves when most brides actually chose to get married? Or at least had a say in who they married. No, there was nothing normal about this marriage. Even if the mirror that Rani suddenly produced and held in front of her made her gasp.
She blinked, and looked again. Was that woman in the mirror, that woman adorned in golden robes, with her dark hair twisted with ropes of pearls and curled behind her head, really her? Her eyes looked enormous, rimmed with kohl and shimmering with glitter, her lips plumped and gloss-slicked ruby red. She looked every bit a real bride.